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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22611040">Variation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister'>GretchenSinister</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Cavity Serial Killer Two-Parter [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rise of the Guardians (2012)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Cannibalism, F/M, is it a coffee shop AU if it begins in a coffee shop?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:35:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22611040</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Original Prompt: "I just had this image of Pitch calling her “Bone Collector”. (I know teeth aren’t technically bone, but they’re close enough to scare people.)</p>
<p>So Pitch being appreciative of her work, and Tooth not minding too much.</p>
<p>+100000 if Tooth makes fun of Pitch’s teeth"</p>
<p>Okay, I know this prompt is not explicitly about cannibalistic serial killers meeting in a Starbucks, but that’s what you get.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pitch Black/Toothiana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Cavity Serial Killer Two-Parter [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Cavity Short Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Variation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted on Tumblr on 10/6/2015.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pitch sipped his seasonal drink—decaf, and with half syrup—at the chain coffee shop, and looked with pleasure at the gray day outside, sputters of intermittent rain and heavy winds driving people along quickly and selfishly, hiding in their scarves and collars and noticing nothing but what could get them to their next warm shelter. It was perfect weather for him, and it was likely that there would be much more like it in the coming weeks. The spirit of celebration he always felt in the autumn could be easily indulged, with most people wanting to stay within their bonfires’ circles of light and warmth, if they ventured outside at all.<br/><br/>Yes, the steady bettering of circumstances at this time of year was certainly worth this other indulgence warm in his hands: a noticeable variation in his routine. Usually, he was careful to avoid such, getting the chain’s version of a large coffee in their most common roast, with room for cream, every morning within a few minutes of 9 am. Whenever he could, he would wear his coat as he ordered, so his clothes wouldn’t provide any variation for the busy baristas to remember. His coat was truly excellent for that, the most generic men’s raincoat in black he could find. Sometimes the possibility of stains made him regret having to use a khaki coat for when he did not want to look like his everyday self, but he much preferred wearing black ninety-eight percent of the time.<br/><br/>It was truly amazing what a simple routine could do. From about 9 am to about noon, he lingered over his coffee and worked on whatever projects he had that only required a laptop. Usually this was writing, though sometimes it wasn’t. He always sat at one of four small tables with his back to the wall, anyway, so it didn’t matter. At noon he would leave to eat lunch, either brought from home, or purchased from a number of nearby to-go shops—this part of the routine demanded variation; it was good to have many possible places to be seen in, especially when he was at none of them, and, anyway, there was nothing that could be purchased for take-out that he would have been happy to eat every day—and between 12:30 and 12:45 he would return to the coffee shop, where he would work again on his laptop until between 3:45 and 4:15. And with this routine, people in the coffee shop saw what they expected to see, which was him, every day. It was important that they expect and remember him there, especially on days when he couldn’t make it.<br/><br/>He’d tested it. He’d skipped a day, and, the next, remarked on yesterday’s weather to the barista who usually worked mornings. She had teased him about saying the same thing yesterday. His smile afterward had been full of genuine good feeling.<br/><br/>And even today—well, the change in his drink order would be the most noticeably unusual thing about him, in the barista’s memory. It might be the most memorable thing about him for some time, and since he didn’t plan to make any other exciting variations from his routine today, that was very, very good.<br/><br/>He needed to plan for when he did, though.<br/><br/>His gaze left the window to observe his fellow patrons. With the uncomfortable weather, it was more crowded than usual, and he was likely to be able to find inspiration for the type he wanted.<br/><br/>His preliminary survey was arrested before he had scanned even a quarter of the shop by a pretty Indian woman. It was not her looks that stopped him—for the purpose of his autumn celebrations he preferred men, and for most other purposes as well, though he knew that there was a possibility that he was still holding a torch for the one who got away, a clever little man who hadn’t yet been sensible enough to permanently solve his immediate problem, who had whispered “I’ll be back” right into Pitch’s ear and had never returned. It was possible, absent this, that he had no preference one way or the other, and perhaps in no way at all. Regardless, it was the woman’s behavior that caught his attention. She sat at a small table with a large coffee in front of her, with at least a dozen empty sugar substitute packets scattered around it. She tapped her foot at incredible speed, while all the while her eyes darted around the shop. When her hands didn’t hold her coffee, they tore up sweetener packets, or drifted to the edges of her largish bag, which she held on her lap. Her expression was barely an expression at all, reminding him more of the stare of a predatory bird, no matter how little she focused on any one thing.<br/><br/>If she wanted people to suspect that she was going to pull a knife out of her purse and really go to town on the other patrons, she was succeeding admirably. Pitch set his drink down and studied her further. Possibly, she had just stolen something, and wished to not appear to flee. Her agitation ruined her goal, but amateurs were everywhere. Or, perhaps, she was simply not used to being in a somewhat crowded public space. He watched her jaw work, as if she wished she was chewing on something. Curious. Perhaps that was why she had reminded him of a bird of prey; she seemed half-wild, and he wondered what could have possessed her to visit a busy chain coffee shop.<br/><br/>Her hand drifted fully into her purse, and Pitch prepared to take his laptop and go, but she pulled out nothing odder than an Altoids container. Pitch grimaced at the idea of sucking on a mint and drinking coffee at the same time, but even holding the box appeared to calm her considerably. It occurred to Pitch that the box actually held drugs of some sort, perhaps even her own prescription medication, and had decided to resume his survey of the coffee shop when he saw her still and take a deep breath. Pitch recognized that. It was the gesture of someone who was about to play “normal” as a role. After putting on this role, she calmly opened the mint container, pulled out a small object, and put it into her mouth, where, if he was not mistaken, she began to chew on it. If it had been a mint the sequence would have been uninteresting, even noting the now perfectly natural-looking calm that swiftly transformed her after she took what most people would assume was a mint into her mouth.<br/><br/>But even at a distance of seven or eight feet, Pitch had recognized the object as something entirely other than a mint. He was familiar enough with what she had put in her mouth to know: it had been a human finger bone.<br/><br/>The mint container rattled as she returned it to her purse. Pitch was almost sure he heard a soft cracking sound from her vicinity as her jaw muscles strained.<br/><br/>A not-unpleasant shiver fluttered down Pitch’s spine.<br/><br/>Well. She was really putting herself in danger if this was how she usually acted in public. Pitch closed a few windows on his computer and sipped thoughtfully on his latte. Perhaps she could use some advice. Perhaps she would accept an invitation to his harvest celebration. Perhaps it would be very nice to have a guest, in a more traditional sense than usual.<br/><br/>And she probably wouldn’t complain about his teeth being too sharp, now would she?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags and Comments from Tumblr:</p>
<p>#yeesh we've gone into deep-level fandom now haven't we#is this even Cavity#cameo by Sanderson Mansnoozie#you bet your booty that's a pumpkin spice latte</p>
<p>tejoxys said: Oooh, I’d love to see this one keep going. You write such a good creepy Tooth.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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